Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again
by Starzangel
Summary: It seems Death has taken what matters most to Anamaria. She struggles with the loss of the man she loves to Davy Jones' locker. COMPLETE
1. Feel My Heart Breaking

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Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, none of _Pirates of the Caribbean_ is mine (it belongs to Disney). I only borrowed the concept and characters to have fun (but gain no profit) writing this story, which _is_ mine. The lines I've used from the song 'Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again' also aren't mine. The song is from _The Phantom of the Opera_ (which isn't mine) and the lyrics are by Charles Hart (additional lyrics: Richard Stilgoe). Phew! I think that covers everything.

Archive: If you're not FanFiction.Net, then please ask first via submitting a review (leave your email address & I'll get back to you - and most probably say "Aye!").

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Author's Note: Tissues at the ready!

Pairing: Jack/Anamaria

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Pirates of the Caribbean:

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Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

By

Starzangel

***

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Wishing you were   
somehow here again. . .   
wishing you were   
somehow near. . .   


Wishing I could   
hear your voice again. . .   
knowing that I   
never would. . .

*

Part One: **Feel My Heart Breaking**

Anamaria had never felt so lost before in her life.

She had experienced thirty-two years that had been far from easy sailing, but never had her heart ached, bleed, like it did now. She wasn't sure how she could still be alive. Perhaps she wasn't, for everything seemed so distant. Everything except the pain.

Her eyes were red, raw and swollen, yet still tears fell. She couldn't stop them and didn't care to try. It didn't matter if the men saw her crying, it didn't matter if the whole damn world saw. Nothing mattered anymore.

She might as well be dead too, for she could never live again. Her lungs continued to draw in and push out air, but she didn't breathe. Hell on Earth had engulfed her and would never let her go.

The sun was sliding below the waves and the sky was darkening, surprising Anamaria with the realisation that so little time had actually passed. It seemed to her as though a century had gone by since it had been morning and she was blissfully unaware that he, the man she loved with her entire being, would be cruelly taken from her mere hours later.

She was no longer the same person as she had been then. Now she was empty, a deep void in her aching heart. The world she had known before wasn't hers anymore. With its centre gone, it did not revolve the same. What had been was lost forever with him. 

Anamaria didn't want to move in time with a different world, and so, she drifted, out of sync with everyone else, surrounded by her despair. Her crying eyes stared into the blackening sea, whose arms now held him instead of hers.

Earlier she had dived into the water, searching until her lungs burned and her head span. She had gasped for air and then gone under again, repeatedly, until she'd been pulled out and into a boat, barely conscious. They had searched the nearby islet too, over and over, until it started to grow dark.

Then it had been time to accept that the hunt was pointless. The man who had seemed immortal had been claimed by Davy Jones' locker and was not coming back.

They turned their rudder to the waters that took him. But though the ship moved on, Anamaria did not. She stood at the _Black Pearl_'s stern, looking back and remembering. Clinging to her bittersweet memories of those last few moments of the man she loved.

.

Together the two of them had awoken and gone up on deck to find the _Pearl_ and the surrounding waters to be shrouded in slowly drifting, thick fog. The uneven mists held a hundred shadows, making it near impossible to tell what really was out there.

He had been quiet with unease, sensing the impending trouble.

"Devils lie hidden in these cursed airs. . ." Gibbs muttered, as if sharing grave wisdom.

He merely nodded and took over the helm.

Then it had all happened so uncontrollably fast.

Two pirate ships had appeared, one on either side of the _Black Pearl_, seemingly from nowhere. Their names blazed through the fog in red-painted words on black plaques. _Hell's Talon_ to port and _Rising Doom_ on the starboard side.

"Cheerful lot, eh?"

He had ignored his bosun, and from his serious expression Anamaria knew he recognised at least one of the ships. It also told her that this was not good news. A warning shot from the _Hell's Talon_ fired over the _Pearl_'s bow confirmed this.

Commodore Dareign had then introduced himself and Captain Redwaine of his other ship, the _Rising Doom_. The _Black Pearl_ was told to surrender or be destroyed.

The crew of the _Black Pearl_ looked to their captain, who held the ship's wheel in his hands, absently caressing the wood.

"Commodore Dareign, better known as _El Gancho_," he said, quietly, turning to Anamaria. "The Hook."

He had gently taken her hand and placed it on the wheel, then moved away from the helm to address the whole crew.

"I'm going over," he stated, gesturing loosely towards the _Hell's Talon_. 

The crew tried to protest at their captain's decision, which he declared as if he were about to join Commodore Dareign for afternoon tea.

However, he cut them off with a raised palm and frank words. "It's me he wants. Not the ship or her hold."

Anamaria saw the dark seriousness held by his eyes and didn't try to stop him.

If she had known what she did now, things would have been different. She would have stopped him, and allowed the _Pearl_ to be blown out of the water before letting him gonear _that bastard! _Yet, weep as she may, the past could not be changed.

He had yelled across his proposition, then swung over on a rope and disappeared into the deck cabin with Dareign, The Hook. Moments later a deep boom sounded from underwater and most of the _Hell's Talon_'s stern blasted out into the sea as wreckage.

As the _Hell's Talon_ began to sink, Captain Redwaine and the _Rising Doom _sped awaywithout a word. Leaving the _Black Pearl_'s crew no distraction from the horrific spectacle played out on the tilted deck of the _Hell's Talon_.

Their captain and Dareign stumbled out of the deck cabin, swords drawn. They faced each other and steel rang against steel.

The groaning deck was soon deserted as the crew fled, and the rapid sinking of the ship forced the two remaining pirates, locked in battle, up to the tilted bow.

He was a great swordsman, but there were those that could beat him in a fair game and with most of the ship underwater there wasn't much at his despoil to 'cheat' with.

They fought precariously balanced first along the side-rail and then on the figurehead in the grotesque shape of a creature whose features were a merging of those of a woman and a ferocious raven.

He slipped on the uneven surface of the wooden creature's face. Dareign's brawny right arm caught his neck in a strangling hold. Anamaria could only watch helplessly. Suddenly, she saw the meaning behind the name _El Gancho_, The Hook.

A sharp, metal hook replaced the man's missing left hand. It glinted in the few rays of light managing to get through the clearing fog. _El Gancho_ swung his left arm back in an arc. Then the hook seared forward through the air. 

It sunk into the wrist of the pirate captain's raised sword-hand.

Anamaria's chest constricted, as she heard the scream of agony escape her lover's lips. His sword clattered against the sloping figurehead and fell into the sea with a final splash.

He wavered, almost falling after his sword. Dareign raised his hook for the killing blow. Again metal caught the light.

At the last second, he found the strength to twist away. The intended _coup de grâce_ became a graze across the chest.

In his favouring of his hook, Dareign was neglecting his sword and his foe took the opportune moment to wrench said cutlass from the pirate's grasp with his left hand. Then drove the weapon through the surprised and stumbling man's chest, straight into his heart. A splash sounded as Dareign fell backwards into the sea, and the victorious pirate captain stood alone above the waves.

It was then that a strange lurching sound came from underwater. Time froze for a fraction of a moment. 

She could see him now, balanced on that ghastly figurehead with his red bandanna soaked with sweat and the end of his red and white sash wet with seawater. His glinting trinkets came to rest against their backdrop of braids, dreadlocks and loose strands of hair. The slit in his bloodstained white shirt revealed the bleeding wound across his chest, which heaved with the effort to catch his breath. He held his limp right arm against his stomach, cradling his wrist with his other hand. Droplets of blood dripped from between his fingers and fell through the misty air to become lost in the waiting waters. His charcoal-lined eyes, the colour of the dark chocolate they'd tasted in Africa, met hers across the distance between them.

Then the events continued to play on at their real, terribly fast pace, and what little remained of the _Hell's Talon_ sharply disappeared. He tried to jump clear. But he was swallowed by the swell of the water and taken down with the ship.

The water gradually stilled above the sunken galleon, the surface never to be broken by a pirate captain gasping for air. He was gone.

.

Anamaria could taste the salt of her tears on her lips and feel the cool night wind pull back her dark hair and pass through her shirt to her trembling shoulders, but she rejected any connection with these things. Life meant nothing but pain to her now.

There was no escaping it.

There was no changing it.

.

Captain Jack Sparrow was dead.

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To be continued. . .


	2. Dreams

(AN: Thank you for the reviews! Um. . .do you all have plenty of tissues at hand?)

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Part Two: **Dreams**

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I dream of many things,

But most of all,

I dream of you.

*

Dawn was coming.

In the East, the blackness of night was starting to fade into shades of blue. Threads of sunlight stretched out from the horizon and streaked the sky, while the glowing ball itself gradually emerged.

A weathered, little rowboat drifted slowly towards the light, pushed only by the waves lapping with seeming affection at its hull.

Darkness still covered the small boat. High above the moon and the stars lingered still, the morning not get close enough to send them on their way. The light was the boat's destination, and it trusted that it would make it, though quite what lay beyond was unclear.

The rowboat contained one passenger, noticed only by the few seabirds soaring quietly across the sky. He lay on his back, his shirt saturated with blood. The paleness of approaching death clung to his clammy skin and his eyelids half covered his glazed dark-brown eyes. Water soaked his grey-blue breeches and his tangled dark hair that was missing its red bandanna. He made no perceptible movements, the irregular rise and fall of his chest too shallow to be visible. 

The rhythmic rocking of the little boat lulled him. He felt weary to his very soul and a feeling of peace was descending over him, pushing away Earthly sensation. Death's icy touch further numbed him, dimming the pain that reverberated from every part of his battered and bleeding body.

Some part of his mind knew that the hull's shrunken wood and dissolved tar was allowing water to seep in, and his bare feet and lower legs were submerged in a slowly deepening puddle. But he didn't worry about it.

It wouldn't be long now, he knew. As dawn brought the end of night, it would bring the end of Captain Jack Sparrow's life.

A notion suggested to him that perhaps he should be afraid and fighting this ending with all his might, yet he wasn't. The gentle splashes of the sea against the hull spoke words of comfort and he listened and didn't struggle.

He wasn't sure how or why he had survived so long. He should have drowned when the sinking _Hell's Talon_ pulled him under. As he stared up at the hues of blue weaving between the fading stars, he knew that the last thing he should have seen was the face of the woman he loved.

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Anamaria.

The thought of her drew Jack back to the world that held her and a faint groan passed through his bluish lips.

His eyes ached to see her pretty face again; his skin yearned to feel her gentle touch; his chest longed to breathe in her salty scent; his ears craved the sound of her soft voice; his mouth hungered for the taste of her sweet lips.

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Anamaria. . .Ana, my love. . .

A sob choked his throat and he rolled onto his side, coughing water from his lungs and cradling his right wrist against his stomach.

He wondered where she was and what she was doing. The thought of her crying with grief because of him brought tears to his own eyes. If only he could tell her it was alright. 

If only he wasn't going to die. . .

Jack rolled onto his back again and his vision dimmed, his mind retreating into dreams of what might have been.

Marriage may have been a possibility; Anamaria dressed in flowing cream silk, lilies in her soft waves of hair and pale sands under her bare bronzed feet. He in dark breeches and a clean shirt, holding her hand, as a priest declared them husband and wife. Simple gold bands on their fingers more valuable to them than any of the fancier gem-encrusted rings in the _Pearl_'s hold.

Perhaps even a son or daughter, if their adventuring days passed; Anamaria's belly swollen with child - his child, their child. Her hand reaching for his and placing it against her flesh to feel the kicking life they had created. Later, a babe in his arms that would grow up into a brave, resourceful lad or a beautiful, wilful girl.

Or just years of freedom on waves together; the _Peal_'s wheel in his hands and Anamaria at his side, passing him the spyglass to sight their latest prey - a Spanish merchant vessel with a hold full of expensive spices.

Passing the nights in each other's arms; a dim lantern swinging with the movement of the ship, the whites of her eyes bright in the darkness as she regarded him with love. His arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

His thoughts thinned and the deathly coldness sunk deeper into him. Though his pupils dilated, the sky was blurred beyond recognition. The cries of the gulls soaring through the sunrise and the lapping of the waves against the little boat's hull no longer reached his ears.

Captain Jack Sparrow was fading from the mortal world.

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TBC. . .


	3. Hold On

(AN: Thanks for the reviews! I hope you have tissues left. . .)

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Part Three: **Hold On**

Anamaria's eyes opened and squinted against the glare of the early morning sun. Sleepily, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, surprised to find herself covered by a thick grey blanket. She didn't remember falling asleep. However, memories of why she had never moved from the _Black Pearl_'s stern the night before flooded over her like a tidal wave, crushing her. Anamaria choked on a sob, feeling as if the deck had been swept away. The rush of intense emotions brought nausea with it. Clamping a sweating hand over her mouth, she struggled against despair and panic, as she realised her entire life had been turned upside down and torn into bloody shreds.

"No, no, _no. . ._"

Large, salty drops pooled in her sore eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She looked around in distress, her breath coming hard and fast.

"_Jack. . ._"

Anamaria's whole body wracked with violent sobs and she hugged her knees to her chest. Untended strands of her dark hair stuck to her wet face. Breathing became near impossible and she choked and gasped for air.

Finally, exhaustion got the better of her and she slumped forward, her forehead resting against the ship's rail. Wet-faced and trembling, she shifted so that her cheek was leaning on top of the wood and her blood-shot eyes absently looked out across the sea.

Pieces of broken wooden poles, sail canvas, rope and planks bobbed about on the waves, following the _Black Pearl_. Comprehension was slow to infiltrate Anamaria's grief-soaked mind; she sluggishly accepted that she was seeing wreckage from the _Hell's Talon_. The air was still, she realised, and so the _Pearl _was making poor speed. It was as if the past didn't want to be left behind.

A less damaged piece of debris caught Anamaria's eye. She sat up slightly, her chin now resting on the rail. Her aching eyes squinted and as the curved piece of wreckage drifted closer, she recognised it as a little, old rowboat.

The current caught the boat then and swept it faster towards the _Black Pearl_'s stern. Anamaria stood up, clutching the rail, and peered out and down into the water.

She gasped.

Her knuckles became bone-white and she shut her eyes tight for a moment, fighting vertigo. Barely daring to breathe, she opened her eyes and looked again.

The rowboat was even closer now and there was definitely someone lying in the bottom of it. Someone covered in blood with long dark hair.

Anamaria's shaking hands flew to her mouth.

"Gibbs. . ." Her voice was too hoarse and weak to even be audible to her own ears.

She lowered her hands and turned towards the rest of the deck.

"Gibbs, _Gibbs!_" She repeatedly forced the yell out of her constricted throat until the man she called came hurrying up from the lower section of the deck.

He rushed over to her, his face stricken with alarm. "What? What is it, lass?"

A number of crewmen had followed, but now hung back while Gibbs grabbed Anamaria by the arms to still her.

Anamaria's lips moved, but she found herself unable to speak again. Urgently she pointed over the rail to where she had seen the rowboat. Gibbs and some of the crew moved to look into the water.

Anamaria couldn't breathe. What if she had imagined it? What if it wasn't him? What if she was going crazy? Her mind laughed at her last worry - what did it matter now if she lost her sanity?

A collection of gasps from the others shocked her.

"Mother's love. . ." Gibbs muttered in disbelief. Then he quickly shouted the standard order, "Man overboard! Get the hooks!"

Vertigo assaulted Anamaria again and she wavered in one spot, before staggering to the rail.

The rowboat drifted around the port side of the _Pearl _and the men hastily followed with hooks. Anamaria stumbled after them. She watched as the boat was hauled out of the water and carefully swung down onto the deck, water splashing over its sides. Gibbs and Quartetto reached inside and lifted the man out. They gently lay him on the deck and Anamaria had no more doubt. The man was definitely Captain Jack Sparrow. 

But, God, was he pale. . .

Panic sprung Anamaria into movement and she was at Jack's side in a flash, knocking everyone else's hands away to find his pulse herself. She was alarmed further by the coldness of his skin and her shaking fingers failed to find his heartbeat. 

Gibbs rested a hand against Jack's bloody chest and leant forward so that his cheek almost touched his captain's grey lips.

"He's alive," he assured Anamaria. "But barely."

Anamaria released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding in. She rocked back on her heels, drawing in air and trying to steady her nerves. It didn't matter how or why he lived, just that he did.

"Let's get 'im below," Gibbs said, quietly, turning to Quartetto.

Together the two men picked Jack up and Anamaria cleared the way for them down to his cabin. They lay him on his bed and Gibbs worriedly checked that he was still breathing. Jack's lungs drew in just enough breath to keep him alive, while his heart beat feebly.

Gibbs then sent everyone, except Anamaria, out of the room.

Anamaria used her dagger to cut Jack's stained shirt off and washed the blood from him with the water and cloth Ladbroc had brought. She wiped rum over the narrow, seven-inch long gash across his chest and, with Gibbs holding him up, she then bandaged it. Blood didn't seep through the white cloth, which was more worrying than comforting.

The other injury Anamaria knew Jack had was where Dareign's hook had stabbed into his right wrist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she steeled herself and reached for Jack's arm.

Red-brown stains marked where blood had pooled over his hand, pirate brand and sparrow tattoo, and trickled down his forearm to his elbow. The dark cloth he wore around his wrist was wet and a hole had been ripped in it. Carefully, Anamaria untied the piece of leather he kept tied to his palm and then slowly cut the darker cloth from his wrist.

White bone showed through the torn flesh.

Anamaria bathed the wound and, like the gash across his chest, it only started to bleed very slightly. She removed a tiny shard of fractured bone, but was relatively sure that there wasn't a proper break anywhere along his arm. With Gibbs's help, she bound Jack's wrist firmly.

Together she and Gibbs then finished stripping him and checked for any other wounds. There was blessedly no more that needed attending. They pulled the bed-sheets over him and added more blankets in attempt to warm him up. Anamaria tried to rub his thick hair dry, with some success.

Having done all they could, Anamaria and Gibbs moved back from the bed. Gibbs squeezed Anamaria's shoulder in consolation, then turned and left the cabin to go back on deck.

Alone, Anamaria stood at the foot of the bed looking down at the motionless body of the man she loved.

He lay as pale and still as the dead.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Anamaria approached the bed and sat down so that her hip was against the blankets that covered his. She leant forward and tucked a strand of stray hair behind his ear, only sorrowed, no longer surprised, by the corpselike coldness of his ashen skin. Her fingers lingered over a strand of trinkets, their soft jangling extraordinarily loud in the quietness of the cabin. His eyelids hid his dark-brown eyes and they didn't move underneath. The blankets that covered his chest remained still.

Fearing that he had already slipped away, Anamaria lay a finger over his mouth until she felt his breath lightly brush it. Then she gently took hold of his left wrist, finally found his weak pulse with her fingers and clung to it.

She knew that the Reaper stood at his beside, scythe poised. At any moment Jack's lungs could give in or his heart could fail; Captain Jack Sparrow may have hours left, minutes or mere seconds.

"Hold on, Jack," Anamaria begged, softly, quiet tears dropping from her eyes onto their hands. "Please, hold on."

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TBC. . .


	4. Breathing Again

Part Four: **Breathing Again**

Gloom filled the interior of the captain's cabin on the _Black Pearl_, as rain batted against the windowpanes. Water droplets dibbled down the outside of the glass, rivulets merging and separating. The drumming on the windows was the predominant sound in the room, accompanied only by the softer sounds of wood creaking and the slumbering breaths of the man and woman lying on the bed, breathing exactly in time with one another.

The pallid man's left hand moved a little under the woman's.

She was pulled to the edge of sleep by the feel of his slight motion. His bluish lips parted to release a groan, which brought her to consciousness.

.

Anamaria opened her eyes to find herself lying over Jack's legs, her right hand loosely holding his left. She gently squeezed his hand and then, stiffly sitting up, she glanced towards the windows. Dark clouds obscured the sky preventing her from telling what time of day it was.

Fingers closed around her palm.

Surprised, Anamaria's gaze snapped to Jack and noted that the movement of his chest was just about noticeable through the blankets. Without letting go of his hand, she reached to turn on the oil lamp beside the bed. The golden light showed her that a hint of colour had returned to his skin and his eyes moved beneath their lids. 

Suddenly, two dark-brown orbs flashed up at her in the light.

.

Captain Jack Sparrow slowly took a hold of his senses and his mind interpreted what they told him. He hurt too much to be in Heaven, he decided, and having Anamaria sat next to him wasn't his idea of Hell. That left one explanation.

"I'm not dead."

Tears glistened in Anamaria's eyes and she bit her trembling lower lip, as she tried to smile. "No, Jack, you're not dead." 

She covered her mouth with her left hand, droplets spilling over her eyelashes. Jack squeezed her other hand, which clutched his. 

"Oh, Ana. . ." 

He winced slightly when he raised his bandaged right arm, but nonetheless continued to reach up to brush the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

Anamaria licked the salty water from her lips, a smile finally managing to grace them and glisten in her eyes instead of tears.

Jack lowered his hand and Anamaria noticed the shadows of fatigue dancing over his pale features. His limited strength was rapidly waning. She felt his left hand slip within her hold and his head sunk deeper into the pillow. He blinked, fighting against the pull of exhaustion.

Before Anamaria's eyes, Jack began to slip into sleep. A sudden urgent thought struck her.

"Wait." Anamaria reached for the cup on the desk behind her. "You should drink something."

With effort, Jack managed to stay with her. She raised his head and helped him to take sips of water from the cup. The liquid soothed his dry throat, but his eyes soon started to flicker again.

Deciding he had drunk enough, Anamaria gently lowered him back down and brushed a light kiss onto his forehead. Then she released him to the land of healing slumber.

Anamaria remained sat on the edge of the bed, but finally let go of Jack's hand to pull a spare blanket over her own shoulders. She sighed deeply, tension falling away. A lightness filled her, as her chest relaxed, no longer clutched by an aching heart.

Eyes alight with love, relief and gratitude, she looked down at Jack's peacefully sleeping face and watched his chest rise and fall evenly beneath the blankets. He was still incredibly pale, but the grey tinge was gone and the faintest pink of a new rose petal touched his lips.

Eagerly, she took in air and then gave it back to the world she was happy to be part of. She welcomed the sound of the rain and the feel of the glow from the oil lamp warming her cheeks. Inwardly thanking the mighty Powers That Be, whatever form they or it took, she embraced life once more.

Anamaria breathed again.

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TBC. . .(one more chapter). . .


	5. Explanation

Part Five: **Explanation**

Captain Jack Sparrow sat up in bed, the sun streaming in through his cabin's lead-divided windows. He rested against the plump pillows piled at his back and chewed on the bread bitten off the chunk he held in his left hand. His eyes were bright with life and admired Anamaria while she tidied the room. Her hair was kept out of her face by a light-green bandanna shot through with gold-coloured thread and a blue topaz pendant he had given her a few years before hung around her neck. His gaze followed her as she moved to the end of the bed to straighten the sheets.

Anamaria glanced over at him. "Eat your breakfast."

Jack hadn't realised he'd stopped chewing, and swiftly finished his mouthful. "I was hoping there was something much more appetising on the menu."

"I know you were." She moved away to stack the rolled maps that had fallen off the desk.

Jack sulkily tore more bread off with his teeth and his jaw worked. He paused again when Anamaria finished tidying the desk and then just stood there. Her back was to him and she stared ahead out the window. She sighed, uneasily.

"Anamaria?" Concern laced his voice.

Anamaria turned to face him, her face darkened with resolve, and Jack knew something was coming that he wouldn't like. He braced himself.

She moved the tray of food off the bed and placed it on a cabinet, then sat down in its place beside him.

"Jack, when…when the _Hell's Talon_ sunk…" Anamaria hesitantly broached the subject he hadn't been willing to bring up. She swallowed, then asked him plainly, "How did you survive?"

Captain Jack Sparrow was used to telling stories, but he was not, however, used to telling true stories. Yet, this was an occasion when he owed it to the listener to tell the truth. There could be no exaggeration, no missing out of unflattering events, and no fantasy.

Jack took a deep breath, letting it out again in a weary sigh. Then, haltingly at first, he told Anamaria what had happened.

He solemnly described the sinking _Hell's Talon_ sucking him down to the dark depths of the Caribbean Sea. Flailing arms and desperately kicking legs were unable to prevent his descent. He had twisted in the water, first escaping his boots and then wrenching off his scabbard, belt and sash. Yet, the surface had remained a glimmering star he could not reach and was rapidly becoming smaller as the distance increased. He'd accidentally swallowed water and some flooded his lungs. His surroundings soon no longer yielded any light and he struggled to remember which way was up. He had fought a battle he was sorely losing.

Jack then told Anamaria of spotting the huge rock with an opening in and swimming into it - his last hope. He recalled how it had seemed to him that he was fated to die in that underwater tunnel, as the pounding in his head grew and his thoughts started to dim. But then he had seen illumination above him again and swam upwards with all his remaining strength and determination.

He told her of the immense relief of breaking the surface and gasping air into his burning lungs. Choking and coughing up seawater, he'd pulled himself out of the pool and onto the solid floor of a cave. He had then lain, strewn facedown on the slimy, moss-coated ground unable to move. He didn't know how long he lay there.

Eventually his wits had returned to him and he'd pushed himself up onto his knees, coughing more water out of his lungs. He had looked around and found that the cave was lightened by a tiny opening in the ceiling that was far too small and high up to get through. So, with his bare feet slipping on the damp rocks, he'd staggered towards the only other exit: a dark tunnel.

The natural, upward sloping tunnel dripped and he had to navigate around many obstacles in the form of stalactites and stalagmites in a range of sizes. He'd fallen to his knees many a time and often had to use his hands to cling to the wall and inch his way along through merciless, unbroken blackness.

Jack told Anamaria of finally feeling fresh air against his bare skin and finding that the end of the long tunnel had a small, ragged opening. He'd clambered through the gap and then fought his way through thick undergrowth. He stepped out onto a small plateau overlooking the sea. The dark waves had been dotted with the glittering, silver reflections of the stars.

He had realised that he was on the isle he had seen off to the _Pearl_'s starboard earlier. His eyes picked out a ship in the distance, which he recognised as the _Black Pearl_ heading for the horizon. Without him.

Shivering against the cool air that penetrated his wet clothes, he had made his way down the thickly vegetated side of the plateau to find himself standing on a riverbank. He'd stumbled along the watercourse, almost collapsing from exhaustion, until his foot hit something solid and he tripped up. He had found himself lying uncomfortably in the bottom of a rowboat.

After clambering back out, a crazy and desperate idea struck him and he'd pushed the little, battered, ore-less boat into the river. He had climbed back in and let the current pull the rowboat along and out to sea.

Jack told Anamaria that his half-senseless intention had been to somehow catch the _Pearl _in the little boat. However, he had no clear memories of after the boat had reached open sea.

Anamaria briefly filled him in on sighting the rowboat and bringing him aboard. Jack nodded vaguely in response, his expression haunted. The memories she had made him recall were filled with pain and desperation. He had thought he was going to die. Anamaria had thought he had.

Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't realised how much he feared death. What lay beyond was unknown, but not his main concern, what troubled him was what he would have left behind.

Anamaria frowned with worry, as she watched his thoughts go through him. She reached forward with both hands to gently cup his wan face, his dark eyes flashing up to meet her gaze.

"It's all over now," she said, softly.

The shadows fell away from his eyes like a veil, revealing the love that shone beneath.

Smiling tenderly, she leant in to press a kiss against his lips. Jack's mouth responded to hers, parting and drawing her in.

When their lips broke apart, Anamaria climbed over the bed to sit at Jack's side. She leant against him and his bandaged right arm looped around her shoulders.

Jack reached to retrieve the tray from the cabinet, placed in on their laps and broke off a bite-sized piece of bread.

"Breakfast?" he offered, grinning, and put the chunk of bread into her waiting mouth.

***

Beneath the ebony night sky adorned with flickering diamonds, the _Black Pearl_ moved quietly through the dark Caribbean waves. A man and a woman stood side by side at her bow, holding each other close. Eyes cast towards the horizon, they looked ahead to the future.

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~ Fin ~

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Author's Ending Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Knowing that readers enjoy my stories is the most rewarding part of writing.


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